


Friends Turn To Wine-Drunk Lover (Minus The Wine)

by pickapersonality



Category: All Time Low, Bandom
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Jalex - Freeform, M/M, Who knows how to tag, im new im sorry, not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickapersonality/pseuds/pickapersonality
Summary: The lights, strung up over every porch and doorway, twinkling in the evenings and sparkly in the frosty daylight. Festive foods, piled high behind supermarket windows, in the candy-cane plastic bags carried by happy shoppers. Gingerbread, pine trees, baubles. Normally, he loved it, relished in the happy tidings and cards. Right now, it was twisting his stomach.So, his question; why was he so miserable? Fucking loneliness.-Alex is alone on Christmas Eve, and is not expecting anybody to show up on his doorstep. And certainly not expecting that person to be anybody but Santa Clause.





	Friends Turn To Wine-Drunk Lover (Minus The Wine)

**Author's Note:**

> It's not even Christmas, or at all close to Christmas, but never mind. I have no idea what I'm doing; I'm new here, so I'm sorry for my mistakes. 
> 
> Title partially taken from 'Canals' by All Time Low.

As Alex Gaskarth stared out of the window, his mind seemed to be continuously pondering one single question. 

Why am I so miserable? 

Surely not because of the music. The album had been well-received; hell, even acclaimed, by certain critics who liked them well enough. He'd had tweets off fans weekly, showing him the Last Young Renegade posters up around their towns. And he was proud, damn it, of those ten songs that he'd poured everything into. Twelve if you counted the Japanese version. Although naming one 'Vampire Shift' had ended in a rather large amount of jokes being shared around the production team. (The memories of "Ahh, Alex, been bitten by inspiration this time?" hadn't faded.) 

It certainly wasn't the tour. Moments on that journey had been among the best in his life. The adrenaline, the looks on kid's faces as their favourite song intro trickled from the band's guitars, drum beat starting to cruise into the rhythm, and the screams that still went up whenever he sang, 'manage me'. All he wanted to do was go back ten years, to the young, anxious, jarringly obnoxious Alex, and just say to him, "Hey, we did it."

No, band-wise, everything was perfect. 

Well, he corrected himself quickly, nearly everything. 

He could remember every detail of that goodbye between them all, American and Canadian tour completely finished, uncertainty starting to seep through the cracks. Rian, pulling on his coat and enveloping Alex in a bear hug, one last grin and "See you in the new year," before disappearing out of the office door. Zack's hug had been slightly more bone-crushing, but Alex put that down to the sheer amount of muscle mass on the guy. His parting statement had been a short but sweet "Europe, here we come," and then he, too, was gone. 

Which had left Jack. 

Alex's parting with Lisa, earlier in the year, had lead to a series of sad, but mutual meetings, to sort out the divorce settlements, followed by a strictly platonic goodbye and promises to 'stay friends'. He still loved the woman to death, but their spark had just… flickered out. 

And that was where Jack had come in. 

Loneliness was hard to deal with, Alex had discovered, even when you're touring. With the loss of sweet phone calls and sappy texts to keep him smiling and bubbly, everything had slowed tremendously. Time between shows became longer, leaving him with far too much free time to ponder his deep, dark thoughts, and wallow in his own mistakes and consider how he could have changed things, how maybe it was his fault that everything had turned it this way. 

At that point, a certain brunette-and-partially-red-now-blue-haired male had come into the equation. Jack had simply sat down next to him, on the bus, couch, whilst Alex desperately tried to lose himself in some stupid game on his phone, and wrapped his arms around him, as if trying to shield him from the world. And yes, maybe Alex cried, just a little (sobbing into Jack's denim-clad shoulder). And that was it. 

The tour had carried on. But it was all a little better now, and Alex knew that he had never really been alone. 

The harsh realisation that his feelings towards his longtime best friend weren't entirely platonic had been an awkward, hard-to-swallow mess of uncertainty, guilt, and hiding it under gentle smiles and laughs. Hell, he knew he wasn't one hundred percent heterosexual. That wasn't what it was about. 

Jack. His friend. The guy who had played to his right for over a decade now, who messed around at restaurants and poured red bull into his coffee. Who had gotten far too drunk with Alex on far too many an occasion. They had been drinking beers from their shoes on this tour, for god's sake. 

The idea of doing more than hugging him, kissing him, loving him in that way, was a terrifying yet scarily appealing prospect. 

And now, he was all alone, in a house far too big for himself, staring at the snow falling outside, in a serene, silent curtain. The fire was blazing, building the stacks of logs being something that Lisa had taught him to do, and the entire room was warm. But still, he sat, staring at the road in front, fingers tapping irregular melodies onto the windowsill. 

It's not like anyone else was gonna arrive. His family were snowed in, something his mother had explained in a crackly, apologetic phone call, under almost four feet of soft white blankets. Lisa was most likely in her new house, or with giggling, happy, festive friends, or maybe with a new special someone. He almost hated that he was happy for her. 

Christmas is the worst time of year to be alone, and Alex was prepared to fight anyone who tried to disagree. 

The lights, strung up over every porch and doorway, twinkling in the evenings and sparkly in the frosty daylight. Festive foods, piled high behind supermarket windows, in the candy-cane plastic bags carried by happy shoppers. Gingerbread, pine trees, baubles. Normally, he loved it, relished in the happy tidings and cards. Right now, it was twisting his stomach. 

So, his question; why was he so miserable? Fucking loneliness. 

The TV buzzed in the background, some D-list celebrity on some charity program. 

He was so caught up in his self-pity, that he almost missed to sound of the doorbell ringing. 

At first, he was so sure he imagined it, he was inclined to sit back and ignore it. But when it rang a second time, he almost jumped out of his skin in fright. 

Who the hell could it be? The clock above the fireplace read 11:32, the sky outside dark and full of pelting snow. Maybe it was Santa Clause. The thought made him chuckle darkly, and with a heave of effort (probably required due to the incredible amount of gingerbread he had consumed earlier in the evening), he heaved himself up out of the squishy, comfy armchair, and padded over the plush carpets to check for mystical, red-clad old grandfathers. 

Unfortunately, this thought seemed to resonate in his brain, for when he pulled the front door open, the shock was so much that he blurted out, "You're not Santa." 

Cue the awkward silence and confused eye contact. 

'Umm…" The other figure eventually chuckled. "No, I don't think so. I mean, not last time I checked." 

Alex acted on auto-pilot. "What the hell are you doing here? It's almost midnight." 

And Jack just awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, hair almost soaked with snow and jacket drenched. His car was parked behind him, looking suitably piled-on from just the last few minutes it had been still. "I just thought you might want company. I mean, it's kinda Christmas Eve. And, with Lisa gone-" 

Beside himself, Alex laughed. "She's not fucking dead, Jack." 

The taller man shivered, and Alex suddenly remembered that humans could die from hypothermia. "Oh shit, come in." 

Gratefully, Jack waded into the hallway, dripping melted snow onto the wooden floor. Not that Alex cared. The warmth seemed to hit him, and as Alex closed the door behind him, he hummed in appreciation. "You got anything to eat? I've been driving for hours; snow's mental." 

Muted, Alex nodded, and lead Jack through to the kitchen. A two-minute cupboard raid revealed the still half-full pack of gingerbread cookies that had given Alex so much extra weight. He handed it over, and Jack stuffed his face full of sweet cinnamon-ey goodness, clearly not giving two shits for gracefulness. 

There was tense silence for a few minutes, and then-

"Jack, why are you really here?" He thought back to Jack's hastily-explained Christmas plans. "Aren't your parents over for the holidays?" 

The kitchen was a warm, cosy expanse of light tiles and marble cabinet, and Jack seemed to shrink for a second behind the soft lights, words muffled by cookies. "Uhh… well, it's… sorta hard to explain." 

Alex waited, and slowly, Jack pushed the pack of cookies back over the counter. He cleared his throat nervously, and Alex raised one eyebrow. Patience.

"Well, I was sitting in my car, waiting for my mom, cause she asked me to drive her to get some more food," Jack started to explain, and Alex, not yet seeing how this was related to him in the slightest, had no other option but to hear him all the way out. "And she came back, with like, two bags full of stuff, and she's got some wine or something. And then I started thinking."

"Never a good sign," Alex joked, and to his credit, Jack cracked a smile, before continuing. 

"You know when you were writing Canals, and you couldn't get the last bit of the first verse right?" 

Alex gulped, the lights suddenly seeming all too bright. "Uhh, yeah. 'Course. I asked you for help, right?" 

Jack nodded. "And I gave you that line."

He just looked at Alex, just eyed him for a good ten seconds, before Alex blurted it out, in a messy bleh of words. "'Friends turn to wine-drunk lovers'."

"And then I realised that you were here, all by yourself," Jack blurted out, eyes wide and anxious. "That line was almost a mistake, I thought, cause I was so scared you were gonna see straight through it, and you were gonna find out." He met Alex's eyes. 

Alex couldn't seem to breathe properly. It was like a little game of tug-and-war between his lungs and his head, like, give me oxygen, and then, hey, we fucking can't, cause your heart is beating so goddamn fast, you idiot. The air around him was far too dense, tightening around his head as his vision started spinning. 

"So I gave my mom a lift back to my house," Jack continued, voice admirably steady for the bombshell he'd just dropped. "And I told her that I had to go see someone, just for tonight, and she said 'go get him'. She knew, and I figured, maybe it was time that you did too." He twisted his fingers together, so much it looked painful. "Alex, please say something." 

And Alex didn't think he could, because work were a foreign communication currently, so he just stepped forward and did the only thing that, for some messed-up reason, made sense. 

He kissed him. 

For a moment, it was heart-stopping, just their lips barely touching, surprise and shock in Jack's whiskey eyes, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. 

Then, he kissed him back. 

Jack's lips were cold, scarily cold, from his stop outside the door, and Alex pushed forwards, to warm his mouth entirely. Hell, he was far from a love-struck teenager now, but it was a sweet, gentle kiss, lips sliding over lips and hands on waists and wrapped around bodies and soft, tender pushes. Jack made a soft noise, in the back of his throat, and twisted his hands up in Alex's brown hair, Alex's pulling Jack even closer around his waist. 

They stayed like that, for what felt like years, kissing gentle, winter kisses, while the snow silenced any sound but the background noise of the TV. So much feeling, and disbelief, and utter joy flowed through the two, warming every limb and fingertip, like liquid comfort. 

Finally, they pulled away gently, and Alex just rested his head on Jack's shoulder, not giving a damn about the dampness. Jack hummed softly, lowering one hand to Alex's waist, the other playing with the hair at the base of his head. 

No words but the three Jack uttered needed to be said. 

"Merry Christmas, 'Lex." 

And Alex kissed him again.


End file.
